Chapter Text
Constantinos Brakus stood at the doorway of the common room, his weedy frame stretched out against the foundations of the archway, like he was a gangly, ominous spider.
He stared into the empty room with his usual bitter contempt, watching the space on the couch where Pete-- Petey the Pussy-- and Hopkins-- fuckin’ do-gooder-- and Gary Smith had been gathered moments earlier.
Hopkins had taken off abruptly- Gary had no doubt talked him into something when Algernon showed up- Peter had hung around until finally Gary’s pokes and prods annoyed him to the point of walking away in frustration, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to watch the swimming uninterrupted. And Gary had slunk off, a sly grin on his face and an eyebrow raised to Constantinos, as if that was all they needed between them. It was.
He didn’t know what to think. Part of him was looking forward to whatever went down next, whatever stupid psychodramatic trip Gary was about to take them on because it at least broke the monotony of regular school life-- and part of him was relieved. He could watch without being a part of it for once, in the same way as he watched everything else that happened around Bullworth Academy. The reporter in him was satisfied. The rest of him felt utterly empty and drenched in self-loathing.
They'd first talked some time last year.
“What’s wrong with you? Gonna slit your wrists, are you?” Gary had sounded so fucking casual about it, like he was one of the fuckin’ jocks, asking one of the guys if he was up for the big game next weekend.
Constantinos studied him with narrowed eyebrows. He didn’t trust Smith at all-- the rumours about him spoke volumes on his sociopathy-- but he wasn’t afraid of him, either. And if he was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him know about it.
“Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“Just sayin’…you look like you're always on the edge, and if you’re gonna do something, you might as well do it properly. Go out in a blaze of glory. I mean what’s everyone gonna say-- ‘That wimp Constantinos offed himself…’ Or..." His eyes darkened. "Would you rather think about them screaming and running around for their pathetic little lives as the school goes up in flames?”
The expression on Constantinos' face changed. Gary was one sick fuck, but strangely compelling. And there was a glint of something in his dark eyes-- not quite interest, not really passion-- but something.
“Why do you care?”
Gary stretched out and put an arm over his shoulder. “Oh, Constantinos,” he drawled, his voice lingering on the last syllable, “You and I pretty much have the same dismal faith in the world and towards most of the morons in this place. You don’t think they should be spared, do you?”
Still uncertain, Constantinos shrugged away from Gary. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Well if you’re so big on the idea, why don’t you do it? Save me the effort.”
Gary fell silent. Constantinos resisted the urge to smirk—he’d made a decent point, hadn’t he? Gary’s gaze fell down to the notebook in Con’s hand and he raised a crooked eyebrow.
“What’s that?”
“A notebook.” He shrugged.
“You write for that stupid school paper thing, don’t you?”
“I expose the bleak truths of this foundation and the stupidity within,” he said. Well, there was that and the anonymous poetry. And being a journalist meant getting to interview the socially elite on current school happenings, which had the added bonus of getting to legitimately talk to Pinky Gaulthier. Not that he’d have told Gary about that.
Gary nodded, smiling. “I like your style,” he said. He glanced down at the notebook again. “I’ll make sure I read that paper next time it’s out.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Con said with a shrug, “The majority of it’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, I’d expect that much from a place like this.” He watched a group of nerds walk past. “Losers.”
Constantinos shrugged. The nerds were losers, but no more so than anyone else in the school. Except Pinky. And maybe, sometimes, himself-- but who gave a shit? Pinky was going out with Derby-- and he had what he needed to not be a loser-- money and social standing.
In his first year at Bullworth, Constantinos had watched the Preps with a vicious kind of envy. He’d even tried joining the boxing club-- but two embarrassing seconds in the ring later-- as well as concussion and a heavily bruised ego, he had walked away, defeated.
The paper, he reasoned, was social standing without the brutality of the boxing ring. Sure, it wasn’t glamorous, but ten years down the track he wouldn’t have brain damage and a broken nose from writing, would he? Not that it would matter at all, but he’d have the smug satisfaction of watching Derby and friends look like shit in twenty years, while he was relatively unscathed, wouldn’t he?
“You shrug at everything,” Gary noted.
“Why should I give a shit? Why should anyone else give a shit what I think about them?” He resisted the urge to shrug again.
“You’re the one who writes for the school paper. Maybe you really do give a shit what people think.” Gary smirked.
Constantinos didn’t shrug this time, but flinched, slightly nervous. In all the years he’d been at Bullworth, no one had really talked to him. He was the weird skinny kid with the long name who kept to himself and wrote a lot, not someone loathed and laughed at by the mass population, but viewed with a kind of suspicion as though there was something Very Wrong with him. He was a loser, but unlike them, he realised it. Their avoidance neither bothered nor surprised him.
And now, on this perfectly random afternoon, here was Gary, school psychopath, sharing plans to destroy the school and its occupants, and showing an interest in his writing.
“Maybe I want to know why you care so much about what I think,” Con said smoothly. “You’ve been at this school as long as I have, and this is the first time you’ve bothered talking to me.”
“I can always go away if you want,” Gary said with a careless, impersonating shrug.
“Fine.” Constantinos shrugged, watching as Gary sidled away.
“I have shit to do,” he said, offering no more of an explanation, “I’ll see you around, Con. Or read you in the paper. Or something.”
And that was how it started.
It hadn’t been that long ago in the grand scheme of things. But things had changed, and so had they-- and Constantinos now looked at Gary-- even the space where he’d been standing- with angry revulsion. Fuck you, Smith.
The common room was empty, but he didn’t want to stay in there anyway. No sooner would he sit down and try to watch some pathetic garbage on TV and the room would become filled with the sounds and movement of scuffles amongst other students or some inane conversation about Grottos and Gremlins, or a window would shatter nearby. There was no respite from this crap. Better to head back to his room and write in peace and quiet. Failing that, there was always the prospect of going through Cornelius’ stuff and seeing if his roommate had received another package in the mail. That kid always had something worth stealing.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lunchtime. Jimmy was still trying to work out how the social dynamics in the school actually worked, but one thing was already painfully clear about Bullworth-- fruit appeared to be the only edible thing in the cafeteria. The smells coming from the kitchen were unappealing at best, and the visuals he got from watching Edna, the middle-aged, surly cook-- spluttering and smoking around the preparation areas-- hardly made any cooked meal seem appesising. Gary and Petey took the same view.
“Not eating lunch today, Little Petey?” Gary bit down into his apple and stared at him.
“No.” Petey gingerly reached across the table for the fruit bowl and grabbed a depressingly brown banana, which he studied carefully before unpeeling. “Last time I did that, I was in the sickbay.”
Gary snorted. “Oooh… Poor Petey and his sensitive little digestive system. I forgot about that.”
“Give me a break, Gary, I’m allergic to MSG.”
Gary finished his bite of apple and snorted again. “I think MSG is the least of your worries, FemmeBoy. I’d be more worried about salmonella.” He glanced over at Jimmy, who was chewing on an apple. “See, Jimmy, that’s how you know we’re good friends. Normally we’d encourage the new kid to sample some of Edna’s gastronomic delights.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow, and replied through a mouthful of apple. “That’s friendly.”
“Lighten up, Hopkins… it’s all a bit of fun. And generally they get immune to whatever’s in that food after awhile. It toughens you up. It’s character-building food. Isn’t that right, Pete?”
Pete mumbled into his mouthful of banana.
“What was that, Petey? You know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” His smile changed to something almost conspiratorial and he raised a crooked eyebrow.
“I said, except for that kid who nearly died from it last year.” Pete muttered quietly.
“Pah. That’s a load of crap. All rumours.” Gary shrugged. “Anyway, our new friend Jimmy here seems to have caught on about this whole food thing.” He smiled broadly and then turned back to Petey with an odd expression, one which suggested that he was trying to look friendly but seemed distinctly paranoid. “You haven’t been talking to him, have you?”
“Nuh-uh… no…” What the hell was Gary thinking? He’d barely had a chance to say two words to Jimmy, and there was seldom a moment when he was alone anyway. And even if he did want to talk to Jimmy, Gary was irritatingly by his side. He wasn’t sure if he felt concerned or rejected by Gary’s fascination with the new guy.
Smiling again, relaxed, Gary reached over the table and mussed up Petey’s hair. A gesture which might have looked playful and affectionate, but which appeared to be more about a display of power.
“Good,” he said with a chuckle, “Wouldn’t want you scaring the new kid, would I?”
Watching the whole scenario, Jimmy now felt strangely out of place, as though he was being included out of… pity, maybe-- rather than any true desire for friendship. It was barely his first week here, and these were the only two people he’d really spoken to-- because answering back to the bullies didn’t really count, did it? He looked helplessly around the cafeteria for what might have been another group of people he could have sat with instead.
The nerds were insufferable. Their Grottos and Gremlins models were scattered in front of them, even while they ate whatever disgusting “mystery meal” Edna had dished up, and they seemed oblivious to both the taste and smell of what they were eating, as well as their general demeanour. It was almost nauseating watching them have lunch, talking with mouths full, spraying bits of unidentifiable foodstuffs around them, and discussing something either horribly boring, utterly confusing-- or completely inappropriate-- at least ten decibels louder than everyone else.
The jocks weren’t much better. They were loud and boorish, and their conversation consisted largely of sporting stories-- one touchdown was pretty much the same as another, Jimmy felt-- or grunts. They had a cocky, look-at-me air about them which was thoroughly aggravating. No one else dared approach them, of course, and they were aware of their exalted status, like they existed in another reality impenetrable by the common population at Bullworth. Though every now and then they’d watch someone walk past and see fit to offer commentary, as though they really saw the school for the zoo that it actually was. But they failed to realise that they were a part of it as well.
Jimmy cast his gaze across the cafeteria. The preps-- haughty and removed-- were at least a bit quieter, unless they were making comments about the riff raff that were accepted into the school and they wished to be overheard. They were all airy, vacant expressions and posturing. And even if they weren’t completely intolerable at the moment, Jimmy knew they’d certainly become that way if he dared approach them.
And then there were the greasers. Of all the factions in the school, Jimmy suspected that if any of them were likely to accept him, it was probably going to be these guys. They weren’t particularly loud or obnoxious, but it was far too early to just approach them-- and he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to. And anyway, they looked far too busy for newcomers-- they were debating the merits and fallbacks of the latest BMXs to come into the autoshop-- with the exception of Johnny, who seemed deeply in some level of conversation-- even if there was minimal discussion on his part-- with his girlfriend.
He looked around, noticing a few stragglers not really sitting anywhere. The little kids, who hadn’t quite joined any of the cliques, pairs of girls; Eunice-- whom everyone seemed to avoid-- and who Jimmy hoped to continue avoiding after that incident on the first day; Russell-- who just about everyone was terrified of; and that weedy-looking kid who wrote for the paper and who acted like the world existed solely to ruin his life.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Jimmy?” Gary poked him hard on the shoulder. “That Constantinos kid? Man, I hate that guy more than the nerds.”
Petey looked vaguely uncomfortable and nibbled at his banana, eyes darting away from both Gary and Jimmy.
“Yeah. What the hell’s his problem, anyway?”
“He’s that guy who could find a downside to everything. He’s not exactly the type of person you’d want to hang around.”
“I dunno,” said Jimmy, “Maybe he’s just practical. I mean, it’s not exactly hard to see the downside of being here. Or just not be able to see much of an upside.”
Gary snorted again, and flicked Pete on the shoulder. “Grab us another apple, FemmeBoy.”
Jimmy saw Pete look down at the half-eaten apple in Gary’s hand but he reached into the fruit bowl and grabbed another one and passed it over towards Gary.
“See, this is where you’re wrong, Jimmy. There is always an upside to a situation. You just lack creativity.” He tossed the apple in his hand, looking thoughtful. “It’s the mark of a pessimist-- or someone completely boring-- to not see the potential for fun in any kind of situation.”
Not quite catching on, Jimmy looked at him blankly. Petey had shrunk away slightly, in wait.
“Comprende?” Gary smirked, before casting his gaze in the same direction Jimmy had, and casually pelting the apple at Constantinos, striking him on the shoulder. He snickered as Constantinos jumped with the sudden impact and looked behind him, visibly surprised and annoyed.
“Gary… what’d you do that for?” Petey asked, as the Jocks had cottoned on to what was happening, and someone else yelled the unholy war cry-- “Food fight!”
Gary shrugged, his smile growing as he watched the cafeteria descend into madness.
“Simple. I don’t like pessimists.”
It could have been anyone who’d thrown the apple, but Constantinos knew. The direction it came from didn’t matter, and he barely noticed the other projectiles flying around him-- it was that lone hard apple which started it all and which could have only come from… Gary. Either Smith himself, or that new kid he’d talked into it.
Gary was very good at that.
The prefects stumbled in, amidst flying food and screams, trying to control the area. It was hellish madness, but Constantinos didn’t care-- he stood up, grabbed his notebook, and headed upstairs, one final gaze towards where Gary and his cronies had been sitting-- they’d already left-- and walked out. A banana skin slapped against the back of his shoe as he left the cafeteria. He barely noticed.
“So…” asked Jimmy back in the common room, “What next? What are you going to show me now?”
Pete was tempted to roll his eyes. The two of them sounded like those greasers on about their bikes: it was boys’ talk, not really his thing, and probably not a conversation he was meant to be involved in. But they did it anyway. Jimmy tried to maintain a cool and indifferent façade, and here was Gary acting like he had a new protégé. It was sickening.
Gary stretched on the couch and cracked his knuckles. “All in good time, Hopkins,” he sniffed. “Me and Petey need some alone time.”
“Hey, what’s so important that you don’t want me in on?” Jimmy looked defensive. “I thought you wanted to be friends, Gary.”
“I do-- and a good friend would want you to get your homework done for English.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t, after all, want to be expelled from, oh, what-- a seventh school? I suppose they’d be running out of boarding schools… and ones that would take you with your sort of track record.” He smiled. Not in a particularly friendly manner, but in a way that suggested victory.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Jimmy shrugged. It was all bullshit-- Galloway let everyone help one another with assignments anyway, and he knew he could always ask Angie for assistance if his grade in the subject was in jeopardy. But this was an opportunity to get away from Gary-- and Petey-- for awhile. To explore the school by himself, make his own observations.
“See you guys later-- I should get down to the library.”
“Yeah, good thinking. Keep an eye out for those prefects.” Gary smiled broadly.
“See ya, Jimmy.” Pete raised his hand as though to wave but stopped, looking back to Gary.
They stopped to turn around behind them as a fight erupted in the doorway. Who started it? Probably the bullies- Thad was helplessly flailing around as Trent and Tom laid into him and Davis darted around with his beloved yardstick. It was all kind of pathetic.
“Knock it off,” Gary said dryly. “Can’t you lot go do that somewhere else?”
Davis narrowed his eyebrows and reluctantly handed Thad’s yardstick back before rushing down the hall with the other two.
“Thanks, Gary.”
“I wasn’t doing that because I give a shit about you,” Gary sneered. “I just like my peace and quiet.”
Thad looked down at Pete. What the hell was it with those two, anyway? Gary was one of the louder, meaner kids in the school, hanging around Pete, who nearly as small as some of the little kids?
“Well..." He was nervous, his voice wilting: he should have just taken Gary's rare moment of benevolence and not said anything. "Thanks anyway.”
“Get lost,” Gary hissed, “Or I’ll find some someplace else to stick that yardstick.”
Thad yelped nervously and scurried towards his room.
“So what now, Petey? It’s just you and me, like old times… no new kid hanging around, no losers causing any fights… what shall we do?”
Pete looked at Gary quizzically. “I dunno, Gary.”
“Maybe we should go out somewhere. A night on the town. What do you say to that, Petey?”
He didn’t say anything. Rumours stated that one of Gary’s previous outings had involved a fight with some Townie kids, setting letterboxes on fire, somehow getting into one of the adult shops and having a look, and then being dragged back to Bullworth by a very pissed-off police officer.
“You think that’s a good idea?” Pete asked nervously.
“Well duh. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”
“Well… okay, Gary… but provided you don’t get us in trouble.”
“Relax!” He mussed up Pete’s hair again. “You worry too much about things-- we’ll have a nice night out.” He looked thoughtfully out the window. “Apparently the carnival is in town… wanna go laugh at some freaks?”
“As long as we don’t get in trouble.”
“Relax. We aren’t going to get in trouble.”
Billy Crane’s Travelling Carnival was a sight to behold from a distance. The glittering lights of the Ferris wheel against the twilight sky, like an organised, multi-colour constellation; the vivid colours of tent-tops, and the intricate framework of the Big Canyon Railway made its appeal easily understandable. But up closer, it was neither as exciting, nor as beautiful, and as Gary paid their entrance, Pete started having second thoughts.
“What’s wrong, Petey?” Gary glanced up at the signage indicating the various attractions. “Don’t know where to go first?”
“You sure we’re allowed to be out here?”
“Relax… everyone else is.” He shrugged, indicating a group of preps near a cotton candy stall. “Only we’re gonna have more fun than them.” He snorted, looking up at the Railway.
Please don’t let him suggest cutting through one of the scaffolds, Pete silently prayed, though he wondered how Gary would accomplish such a feat. That said, Pete knew that if Gary wanted to do something, very little could actually stop him. There was something admirable-- and terrifying-- about that.
“How ‘bout we go on some rides?”
Pete shrugged. In his panic about Gary’s imagined sabotage, he’d forgotten a more real and immediate fear-- acrophobia. But letting Gary in on that secret was something akin to suicide.
“Uh… okay.”
“Aw, look, Petey… a Ferris wheel. How romantic.” Gary’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but he seemed interested. “Wanna go for a ride?”
“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” Pete’s fists were clenched and he tried to maintain a look of unaffected calm on his face.
“You don’t seem that enthusiastic.”
“I am, Gary, really…”
They waited in line quietly, every so often Gary offering commentary about the others in line.
“Oh, look at that,” he sniffed derisively, “Derby and Pinky… don’t they make the perfect couple?”
Pete raised an eyebrow. The way Derby usually looked when surrounded by the other preps suggested that his romantic notions concerned any of them rather than Pinky, and the locker room gossip suggested just as much, too. Though tonight, they looked happy enough together, holding hands and pointing out things around them which grabbed their attention. Derby, for once, didn’t look stiff and poised, but relaxed—as though he was actually enjoying himself.
“And…”-- Gary guffawed- “Is that… Trent and Cornelius?”
Pete craned his neck to see. “Yeah. I think so.”
“What the hell else would Trent be doing other than the obvious with him?” His eyes sparkled with malice. “Hey! Trent!”
Trent, having heard his name called from some direction, looked up, panic-stricken. Cornelius appeared oblivious.
“Geez,” scoffed Gary, “He’s out and about with the biggest flamer in the entire school. You heard about Cornelius playing Juliet in the school play last year, huh Petey?”
Pete chuckled awkwardly.
“You know, Gary, when we’re together like this, people probably could be thinking the same thing about us,” he said quietly.
The queue moved forwards.
“Yeah? They could, couldn’t they?” He sounded angry, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. “What would they say about us, Petey? That Gary Smith likes to suck cock?” He snorted again. “I don’t think so.”
Of course not, Pete thought bitterly. They’d think I’m Gary’s bitch.
His gaze drifted back to Trent and Cornelius.
“Still…Trent…” Gary sounded almost philosophical. “Wouldn’t have picked him…would you?”
Pete didn’t say anything. Word got around that Trent swung both ways. Pete probably had a better idea than anyone else-- Trent had been awfully friendly to him a few months ago, but Pete… wasn’t sure what he was. He still wasn’t, either-- he knew he liked girls, but there was this weird situation with Gary and him-- and yet he didn’t really have the desire to get it on with any of the other guys in the school, did he? No. Not really. Some of the preps were all-right-looking, but they were a bunch of snobs; the greasers were totally not gay-- and they were kind of over-the-top hilarious-- and Petey knew that the jocks would have killed anyone at the mere suggestion any of them was like that.
“I dunno.” He shrugged.
The line shifted forwards some more, and Gary and Pete watched as the Ferris wheel started taking on board the people in front of them.
“Um, Gary, I dunno about this… I probably should have gone to the bathroom.”
“You can go afterwards,” said Gary airily. “It’s not like they let you on these things for very long, anyway. They’re just out to rip everyone off.”
“So why go?”
“Because, Little Petey, it’ll be fun. Just you and me and the view and the night sky and all those pussies underneath us freaking out about being up a few miles off the ground.”
The way Gary spoke, he sounded close to sentimental. And as though he were expecting more of him than to be scared of the height. Maybe he really didn’t know he was afraid. “I wonder if Cornelius will shriek like a girl and cling to Trent?”
Pete stepped up at the next empty seat on the Ferris wheel swung towards them and stepped on. He wasn’t going to scream… or freak out… or puke. No way.
From the ground, watching their ascent, Constantinos stood with a hard glare on his face. He’d come here not because he particularly enjoyed the carnival, but to get away from the school, to pointedly avoid certain people, and now they were—albeit unwittingly—staring back at him.
And what the hell was Petey doing here? Petey was a wimp. Petey didn’t go on Ferris wheels. He didn’t have it in him. He was a pussy, kind of pathetic, perpetually terrified of everything; he chewed his nails and whined like a little kid and had that constantly defeated look on his face all the damned time. And he hadn’t seen Gary looking so fucking happy like that, either.
It was perfectly fitting that Gary would be now hanging out with a loser like that.
He screwed his face up in a dissatisfied squint. He hoped that the Ferris wheel broke down, and left them suspended like that in the air forever. And that Petey pissed his pants.